Not Quite Living
by unholytrifecta
Summary: Santana Lopez and Rachel Berry were always an unlikely duo. One day tears them apart - more drastically than either of them could imagine. Can ten years of friendship be rebuilt, or will it fade away? Pezberry AU/semi-canon. Rated M for language.
1. Prologue, Part I

****Author****: EtherealPhoenix**  
><strong>Title<strong>**: Not Quite Living**  
><strong>Rating<strong>: **M [For future language]**  
><strong>Summary<strong>**: Santana Lopez and Rachel Berry were always an unlikely duo. One day tears them apart - more drastically than either of them could imagine. Can ten years of friendship be rebuilt, or will it fade away? Pezberry AU/semi-canon.**  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>**: I do _not_ own Glee.

**Author's Note**: Hey guys, it's me again. ^-^ I'm finally trying my hand at a multichapter fic. Note that this story is an AU, but there are also two alternate realities - one of which will be based off of canon [mostly the character histories and behavior; not the actual events]. No matter what kind of fanfiction I write, I try to keep the characterization as canon as possible, so feel free to critique it. It's late, and I'm not entirely happy with the title or summary [which is why it took me so long to publish], so they're subject to change. Every two chapters or so, there will be flashbacks. Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Not Quite Living<strong>

**Prologue, Part I - _Ten __Years __Ago_**

A seven year-old girl with tanned skin, dark eyes, and dark hair sat in a chair in the pediatric wing of Lima Memorial Hospital. Her arms were crossed defiantly, and she was glaring in the direction of the opposite wall. Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and Santana Lopez immediately shifted her irritated gaze on the person who had disturbed her. There stood a short girl with brown hair and a beaming smile, completely unfazed by the other girl's standoffishness. "Hello, I'm Rachel Berry! I was wondering if you might want to play with me? My dad is off with his patients, and being lonely is _so_ unproductive."

"I can't play," was the muttered response. How could one girl talk that much?

Santana gave Rachel a thorough once-over. Really, what was this girl wearing? She had on a black sweater vest layered over a white button-up, a red plaid skirt, black knee-high socks, and black flats. A red headband held her hair in place. Come _on_, it's August. It's not even cold enough for that many layers. But even though the outfit probably would have made anyone else look like a loser…it fit her, for some reason.

"Why not? Everyone can play; it's not that difficult. You just find something you like doing, and do it!"

"I mean I'm not _allowed_ to play," the Hispanic girl clarified. "I got in trouble. My father said I have to sit here until he comes to get me."

"What for? And why are you here? You're not _sick_, are you? If I get sick, I'll have to miss ballet class! All of that coughing will ruin my voice, and then I'll _never_ make it to Broadway!" Rachel was already backing up, a slightly terrified look on her face.

Santana rolled her eyes at the shorter girl's dramatic behavior. "Calm _down_, Motormouth. I'm not sick. My dad's a doctor here, too, and it's time for my shots. I hate needles, so I kicked the nurse in the leg." She finished her sentence with a nonchalant shrug. "I don't really see the problem, but he said it wasn't nice and got mad at me. And I still got the shots."

"While I don't completely agree with what you did, I don't like shots either," Rachel admitted, giggling. "May I sit with you?"

Santana shrugged once again, but patted the seat next to her in assent. "Why are _you_ here?"

"My daddy usually works at night, but he was called in early, so he couldn't stay at home to watch me today. He's a police officer, so I wouldn't be very safe going with him. At least in the hospital, there's a place for kids like us! My fathers are big on family time, so they don't like babysitters. I told them that I'm not a baby, anyway, but they still wouldn't let me stay home. I would much rather be picking out my outfit for the first day of school tomorrow!"

Almost immediately, Santana's gaze met Rachel's, and a smile spread onto her face despite her confusion over the other girl's two fathers. "It's my first day tomorrow, too. I guess we're going to school together."

"You know, we've been talking for over fifteen minutes, and you still haven't told me your name."

_Actually, __you__'__ve __been __doing __most __of __the __talking,_ Santana thought, but she replied with, "Santana Lopez."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Santana. I know you're not allowed to play with me, but your father didn't say anything about singing, did he? Would you like to sing together?"

If it was possible, Santana's smile got even brighter.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: Hope you liked it! I'm posting the entire prologue in one go, so keep reading! I hope I wrote Rachel decently. Review, please?  
>-EtherealPhoenix.<p> 


	2. Prologue, Part II

**Prologue, Part II - _Present __Day; December 4, 2011_**

Santana drove along the highway with her headlights on, tapping her fingers on the dash to the tune of _Moves __Like __Jagger_ as it played on the radio. It was already 11 o'clock at night. But of course, it was the hobbit's birthday in two weeks. And because it was _Rachel_, Santana actually got off of her ass and drove two hours to Columbus. It wasn't like Lima had an extensive shopping selection, after all. After ten years of knowing her, Santana quickly learned that Rachel Berry would settle for nothing less than perfection.

…Not that Santana minded giving it to her.

So after two hours driving to Columbus, four hours of searching through countless shopping malls and jewelry stores, and another hour and a half spent on the road, Santana Lopez was on her way home with the perfect birthday present. It was a solid gold charm bracelet made entirely of interconnected stars. There was already one charm on it - a matching gold tag engraved with the initials 'R.B.'. Sure, it set her back around $350, but it wasn't like her family couldn't afford it. Plus, it was _Rachel_, her best friend. Her parents adored Rachel; they probably would have bought the bracelet themselves, had Santana told them what she was looking for. …She just had to conveniently forget the price if Rachel ever bothered to ask.

"_Santana, __I __can__'__t __believe __you __bought __this! __How __many __times __have __I __lectured __you __on __the __importance __of __budgeting __and __spending __in __moderation? __With __the __economy __in __such __a __state __as __it __currently __is, __spending __an __excessive __amount __of __money __on __a __gift __is __quite __foolish_,_" _Santana murmured to herself in an imitation of Rachel, adding a low chuckle under her breath. _Whatever. __She__'__ll __love __it._

She turned right, only for light to flood her vision. She squinted in an attempt to filter out the barrier, and saw an approaching semi-trailer erratically swerve into her lane, heading straight for her. Her eyes widened in immediate panic and she slammed her foot on the brakes.

_Shi-_

And then they collided.

The silver Lexus was hit head-on, shattering the windshield. It skidded backwards across the highway, and ramming into yet another vehicle. The impact caused the car to balance on two wheels before tipping over and slamming upside-down on the road with a terrifying crash. Flames licked their way up the sides of the vehicle, and drivers stepped out of their cars to watch the scene. For a moment, the only sounds were the crackling of fire and the muted hum of bystanders on the phone.

Santana just stood and stared. There was fire. Fire and glass and metal, everywhere. From _her_ car - the car she was _in_.

…Wait. Why wasn't she in the car anymore?

She stepped forward, waving her hands to catch the attention of the paramedics and firefighters who had just arrived, but they ran straight for the car. _Okay, __what __the __hell? __I__'__m __right __here!_ she thought. One fireman pried the driver's side door off of the ruined heap, while two others snuffed out the flames. The fireman snapped the driver's seatbelt with a pair of cutters, and hauled out a body. An extremely familiar body.

Santana pressed her fingers to her lips and watched as her limp body - fuck, was it a corpse now? - was carefully transferred onto a stretcher. _I __look __fucking __**horrible**_, she declared mentally. Blood pooled from her left temple, and a trickle of the liquid ran down her cheek. Her bottom lip was split open, there was a deep gash over her left eyebrow, shards of glass and the blunt force of the impact had left countless cuts and bruises littered over her body, and there was no doubt that she probably had a few broken bones. It was fucking disturbing to see herself like that. Especially since _she_ was perfectly fine. …Right?

For five minutes, Santana Lopez was in two places at the same time.

The world began fading around her, and then she was nowhere at all.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: There you go! Let me know if there are any formatting mistakes - uploading from Word to FF screws up my documents sometimes. Review?  
>-EtherealPhoenix.<p> 


	3. Aftershock

**Aftershock**

_**6:45 AM**_

Santana woke up with a start, lunging forward and clutching her bedsheets in her fists. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply to regulate her frantic heartbeat.

_What the fuck was that?_

She didn't even remember what the dream was about, only that it was terrible. She blinked once, looking utterly confused, and turned back to her alarm clock. _Shit, __it__'__s __7:00. __I__'__ve __been __sitting __here __for __fifteen __minutes __already? __I __need __to __get __ready._

Thirty-five minutes, one perfectly crafted ponytail and pressed Cheerio uniform later, Santana looked into her vanity mirror with a self-satisfied smirk. _Sue __Sylvester __herself __would __approve. _She grabbed a tube of strawberry lip gloss and her Cheerios duffel, and left her house.

At 7:50 AM, a pristine silver Lexus pulled up in the parking lot of William McKinley High School. As Santana walked down the hallway, she grew more perplexed - and annoyed - by the second. Anyone who passed her stared openly, and ducked behind the nearest corner soon after. They practically _reeked_ of fear. _Okay, __what __the __hell? __I __know __I__'__m __one __of __the __finest __things __to __hit __Lima __since__…well, __ever, __but __I__'__m __not __fucking __Medusa __or __something. __There__'__s __Rachel. __Maybe __she __can __explain __why __I__'__m __suddenly __repelling __everyone __like __the __damn __plague._

Sure enough, an argyle-clad Rachel Berry was standing at her locker, pulling out her books for her first class.

Santana walked up and leaned against the locker next to Rachel's. "'Sup, dwarf?" she greeted with an amused smirk.

Rachel scoffed, rolled her eyes, and kept sorting through her meticulously organized locker for the books she needed.

The smirk turned downwards at the corners, and Santana raised an eyebrow. "Okay, hold up. Who pissed in your fruit salad this morning? Or did Finnept accidentally crush you under his Goliath feet on his way to class? It's not his fault that you're not in his range of vision, y'know. He's freakishly tall, and you're abnormally short - blame genetics."

Rachel shut her locker door with an abrupt slam, and put a hand on her hip. "Look, Santana. As much as I would _love_ to endure the onslaught of insensitive remarks regarding my height and my choice in friendships - and I'm sure there are many - I do have much more important matters to attend to. So, if you'll excuse me, I'll be leaving now."

And then she brushed past her without as much as a second glance. What the _fuck_.

Santana extended her arm, catching the diva lightly by the wrist. "Rachel."

"I must admit that I'm surprised that you actually know my name. However, I would appreciate it if you would _let __me __go_. Now, please."

"What the hell is going on with you? Did I do something?"

Rachel somehow managed to look affronted, confused, and skeptical, all at the same time. "What _haven__'__t_ you done? I'm starting to think that this is some newfound tactic to torture me by making me recount everything you've put me though. There's nothing wrong with me; I'm behaving in a completely normal manner. You're the one who's acting strangely."

The Cheerio released her grip and stood in place, staring silently at Rachel with an incredulous expression. Rachel's expression was a perfect match.

"Santana, you have insulted, bullied, and ridiculed me for _ten __years_."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: Insert suspense chord here. Sorry to leave you guys on a cliffhanger! Reviews would make me happy, though.  
>-EtherealPhoenix.<p> 


	4. Amnesiac

**Author****'****s ****Note**: I…have no words, you guys. At first I thought that no one had seen this because of the lack of reviews, but I checked my email and it was filled with subscriptions. I adore you all. Thank you so much! I hope you keep reading. By the way, sorry if this chapter is subpar - currently battling a migraine. -_-

* * *

><p><strong>Amnesiac<strong>

_For ten years._

Rachel stared at Santana for a few more seconds, reaching her hand out, then shook her head and walked away. The other girl hadn't even moved, her eyes fixed on Rachel's retreating back.

This was a joke.

For ten years? No. That was impossible. Santana couldn't even think about hurting Rachel in any way - she'd demolish anyone who laid a hand on _her_ hobbit. And yeah, sure, the names she called the girl _could_ be considered mean…but that was only if you'd never seen Santana Lopez and Rachel Berry together. Every attempt at an insult was quickly ended by a laugh, or a smirk, or a nudge in the ribs.

And there were always limits. Santana mostly stuck to height jokes, because she was only, what? Three inches taller? Not _that_ much of a difference, considering most of the others in their grade. Besides, Rachel's height was adorable.

…But that was beside the point.

She _just _saw Rachel the other day. Where the hell was this coming from? The girl acted like they didn't just argue over what to watch during their weekly movie night (they compromised on _10 __Things __I __Hate __About __You_ - Rachel wanted to watch something 'historically classic', but Santana wasn't up for 'that old, boring shit that'll have me knocked out before it even hits midnight') and fight over who got the last pieces of popcorn in the bowl (homemade, of course. Santana still refused to admit that the vegan stuff was actually pretty decent).

And what about Sunday? Wait a second. What _about _Sunday? The more she thought on it…the more she realized that she couldn't remember a damn thing about the day that had just passed. _Did __I __get __drunk __or __something? __I __can__'__t __remember __shit, __and __Rachel__'__s __not __helping. __I __must __have __done __something __to __piss __her __off __if __she__'__s __keeping __up __with __this __stupid __lie __about __not __being __friends._

Santana headed off to English class, a full ten minutes late.

Ignoring the teacher, Santana stepped into the classroom, fully planning to spend the next eighty minutes figuring out what she'd done. Despite her current mood, she smiled as Brittany's hand shot up in an eager wave. It was Brittany Pierce, after all. Her happiness was contagious. She raised her hand as well, but slowly let it fall as she looked around the room. Something was definitely off.

The front row was usually occupied by Santana and Rachel, with Brittany on Santana's right, and Quinn on Rachel's left. Santana liked it that way - Rachel's outfits were a welcome interruption from the sea of red, black, and white fabric that was around every corner of WMHS.

Today, Santana's seat was unoccupied as normal, but Quinn was on her left, and another Cheerio took Quinn's regular seat. That was confusing on so many levels. Not only was she screwing up the whole dynamic, but they had hardly ever talked. The girl in question was a junior, with brown hair and green eyes. Kayla, or Katie, or something. Who knew. And yet…everyone was acting like it was completely normal.

Rachel sat in the back corner, no doubt taking pages upon pages of notes that were probably color-coordinated by topic. But she didn't even look up, except to read what was being written on the board.

A flat, unamused voice snapped her out of her thoughts. "Are you going to sit down any time today, Miss Lopez?"

Santana rolled her eyes, sat in the empty seat, and shot an entirely-too-sweet-to-be-genuine smile to the woman looking expectantly at her.

* * *

><p>It was the same thing for her next three classes. Some seating arrangement that usually involved Rachel huddled up in the back of the room - which was <em>conveniently<em> as far away from Santana as possible. Brittany and Quinn - apparently, the junior girl only shared English and Cheerios practice with them - hauled her off to a center table at lunch. Once again, Rachel was somewhere off to the side, sitting near one of the cafeteria walls. Santana's expressions during the day had started at complete confusion and progressed into deepening disappointment.

"Why aren't we eating with Rachel?"

Quinn gave her the patented Fabray eyebrow and scoffed. _"__Berry_? What is this, opposite day?"

Brittany frowned. "She looks like she needs a hug. But it's, like, the silver rule of McKinley. Nobody really talks to Rachel. I think it's because she's a voice stealer. You know, she talks so much that she doesn't leave any air for the rest of us."

Santana clenched her jaw, wanting to defend Rachel. Brittany didn't mean any harm, it was just how she was. But Santana was questioning her sudden attitude change. Britt _loved_ Rachel. She was the one who greeted them at their locker every morning with open arms - literally. The amount of times they'd both been the victims of Brittany's sneak attack hugs were too often to count. "B, who told you not to talk to Rachel?"

The tall blonde pressed her lips together, the beginnings of a puzzled expression forming. "San…_you_ did."

* * *

><p>When she got home, Santana went straight to her room. Seeing the open space in the daylight, without being in a rush for school, she almost dropped her bag in shock.<p>

Her room, which was formerly decorated in framed pictures, was practically bare. Her furniture and clothes remained untouched, but nearly every picture she could remember hanging up was gone. She paced around the room, running her fingers along the walls.

_Seven __year-old __Santana __and __Rachel __laughing __together __in __the __local __park, __covered __in __mud __from __head __to __toe. __Santana __had __tried __pushing __Rachel __on __the __swings, __and __ended __up __putting __so __much __effort __into __it __that __she __slipped __and __fell __into __a __mud __puddle. __Of __course, __she __dragged __Rachel __straight __in. _Gone.

_Eight __year-old __Santana __and __Rachel __trick-or-treating __as __Esmerelda __and __Elphaba. _Gone.

_An __eleven __year-old __Santana __hugging __a __grinning __Rachel __when the latter __won __fifth __grade __class __president. __Rachel __signed __the __back __of __the __picture, pressed __on __a __gold __star __sticker, __and __deemed __it __her__ '__first __autograph__'__. _That one was gone, too. That picture meant the world to her. Where in the hell was it?

_Last __summer__'__s __picture __of __Santana, __Rachel, __Quinn, __and __Brittany __together __at __the __beach. _It was there, but Rachel wasn't in it.

Santana grabbed her laptop, sat on her bed and began scrolling through the pictures. No Rachel. _At __all._ Pictures of the two of them that should have been there just…weren't. If it happened to be a group photo, everyone would be present except for Rachel.

It was like she'd been wiped off of the face of the earth. Or, at least, out of Santana's life.

This day was just so damn confusing. Rachel was suddenly acting like they were never friends. Santana couldn't find anything that _proved_ they were ever friends. She was lost, and no one seemed to realize it. She sniffled once as a teardrop rolled down her cheek. This was bullshit. Santana Lopez wasn't crazy. This was _not_ her life.

So, there was just one question to be answered.

…_What the fuck happened to me?_

* * *

><p><strong>Author<strong>**'****s****Note**: There you go. Honestly, I'm not too happy with this. I'm so tired, on top of a headache. xD But thank you all for reading!  
>Also: <strong>Gleek1990<strong> - It's a Pezberry romance. And as for whether they were dating…well, you'll just have to wait for the flashbacks, won't you? :) I tease, I'm sorry. Haha.  
>Side note, I most definitely changed my avatar eight hours ago, and it still hasn't refreshed. Wow. ...Anyway, review?<br>-EtherealPhoenix.


	5. One Step Forward

**Author****'****s ****Note**: Sorry, guys! Caught up in college stuff, and then had a major case of writer's block. I _intended_ for you guys to get a two-flashback chapter and another chapter on top of that. But I couldn't get any inspiration for it, so instead, you get one _very _long chapter. Don't you love me? By the way, sorry for any mistakes - it's 4 AM.

* * *

><p><strong>One Step Forward<strong>

Santana tossed aside the laptop - okay, not _literally_, because that thing was fucking expensive - and fell back onto her bed with a huff. She remained in that position for a few silent seconds, before rolling onto her side with a similar lack of enthusiasm.

_Okay, fine. Rachel's either pulling the best prank of all fucking time, or something's seriously wrong here._

Pulling out her phone, she scrolled to Rachel's name in her contact list - her nonexistent name. Rachel was normally the first contact listed under 'R'. And she was third on her speed dial (only because her parents insisted they be first). She double-checked just to make sure, but there wasn't a single instance of Rachel's name anywhere on her phone. If she wasn't so pissed off and just plain confused, she would have laughed.

Luckily for her, she had Rachel's number memorized like it was her lifeline. Hell, considering the current situation, maybe it was. She typed the number in as fast as her fingers would allow, and saved it.

**Santana **[4:36 PM]: _Rachel._

Oh, shit. Was it possible that this wasn't even Rachel's number? Everything seemed to be the same…mostly. Same phone, same car, same computer, same parents. Apparently, she had different friends - friends that didn't include Rachel.

And that wasn't a life she wanted, not when she'd had over a decade of the opposite. She wouldn't ever give that up without a fight.

**Rachel **[4:39 PM]: _Yes, __you__'__ve __contacted __the __right __person. __May __I __ask __who __this __is?_

...Rachel didn't have her number. Of-fucking-course she didn't.

**Santana **[4:42 PM]: …_It__'__s __Santana._

Five minutes. Nothing.

Santana didn't know what she expected to happen. After the way Rachel reacted today, did she really think the girl was about to invite her over for whatever vegan dinner her dads had ended up cooking? At the very least, she had to have done _something_ to deserve the silent treatment.

Ten minutes.

Fifteen minutes. Okay, fuck this.

**Santana **[4:58 PM]: _I __give, __okay? __White __flag. __I__'__ll __fucking __sing__ '__I __Surrender__' __if __that__'__s __what __you __need._

**Rachel **[5:00 PM]: _You __are __aware __that __while __Celine__'__s __anthem __is __an __extremely __iconic __song, __it __also __happens __to __be __a __passionate __love __ballad?_

She would never stop being amused that Rachel typed almost as fast as she talked. Santana chuckled at her phone, and wore a hint of a smirk on her face. At least she'd gotten a response.

**Santana **[5:01 PM]: _…__Just __trying __to __prove __a __point, __Berry._

**Rachel **[5:04 PM]: _How __did __you __even __get __my __number?_

The only thing that kept Santana from rolling her eyes was that Rachel seemed entirely serious. Well, fuck. Something _was_ going on. It was like she was a complete stranger. Santana pressed her teeth to her bottom lip and decided to test the theory.

**Santana **[5:09 PM]: _You __haven__'__t __changed __your __number __in __three __years. __Not __since __you __got __that __personalized __phone __case __and __bedazzled __your __initials __on __the __back __in __pink __rhinestones._

And she was stuck waiting once again.

**Rachel **[5:20 PM]: _…How could you possibly know that?_

**Santana **[5:23 PM]: _Shit, I know what you're thinking, so stop thinking it. I haven't been fucking stalking you or anything. I…well, I don't know. It's a long fucking story, Rachel._

Shit. Character limit. Who the hell created that?

**Santana **[5:25 PM]: _Actually, it's a pretty short story, because I can't remember anything. You think I'm crazy, but I'm not. _

She might as well let it all out now. Rachel already thought she was insane, and she wouldn't be Santana Lopez if she didn't go out with some style.

**Santana **[5:28 PM]: _I know that you celebrate both Christmas and Hanukkah, because when we were eight I came over and gave you the star to put on top of the tree._

**Santana **[5:32 PM]: _I know you're afraid of heights, because I convinced you to climb a tree when we were ten. When we got to the top, you freaked. I'm still sorry about that._

**Santana **[5:35 PM]: _I know you love those cheesy as fuck romantic comedies because I've watched them with you. Your birthday is December 18th. Your favorite color is pink._

**Santana **[5:40 PM]: _You're addicted to argyle and plaid. Seriously, it's kind of unhealthy. The point is…I know you, Rachel. I do. Just say you remember me. Say you remember us._

Fuck, she was getting into Berry-like proportions with this rant of hers. But she didn't care. She barely registered the silent tears flowing down her face.

She stared at her phone for ten minutes straight.

That's it. It was over. She might as well be fucking committed. Especially since she was about to stick the knife right back into her chest. One more text. One more word.

**Santana **[5:52 PM]: _…__Please._

She was losing her best friend. Or, she guessed, she had never had her. It brought her back to last year at McKinley all over again. Fuck, why couldn't things between her and Rachel ever just be _normal_?

* * *

><p><strong><em><strong><em>March 17th, 2011<em>**  
><em>**

Santana hadn't spoken to Rachel in over a month.

More accurately, she'd been _avoiding_ Rachel for over a month. She deliberately took the long way to her classes to avoid running into Rachel in the hallway. She sat as far away from her as possible in class. She said nothing in glee, or skipped it altogether.

It all started on Valentine's Day.

Apparently, Finn and Puck got tickets to some monster truck rally and ended up leaving right after school on that Monday. Valentine's Day. I mean, who the fuck forgets Valentine's Day when they're dating? Anyway, Santana told her not to worry, he was an idiot (which was - and is still - true). They ended up rather appropriately watching _Valentine__'__s __Day_ at the Berry residence under a pile of blankets, with Rachel's head resting on Santana's shoulder.

Santana surprised her with reservations at Breadstix the next morning. "_Somebody_ should take you to dinner," she had said.

Everything was perfectly planned.

Until Finn showed up at Rachel's doorstep with a fucking half-wilted rose in his hand, an apology, and an offer to take her to Breadstix.

And that's how Santana ended up at a table for three, fighting against her every instinct not to send a smartass comment in Finn's direction every time he opened his mouth.

Who did he think he was? She was there every time - _every_ time - Rachel needed a shoulder to cry on. And it was usually because the moron couldn't figure out common sense if it was stamped on the side of a box and mailed to his front porch. Yet, she always sat there and watched as Rachel went back to him time and time again. Apparently, he _still_ hadn't filled his idiot quota.

That was the routine. Finn crushed her hopes, and Santana did damage control.

She'd grown increasingly irritated with Rachel over the next few days. He was her boyfriend, but Santana was the one she came crying to. Santana was the one who got the phone calls at two AM because Rachel was stressed, or heartbroken, or pissed off. So why pick him? Why pick him, when…when she was right there.

The realization hit home like a bullet, and Santana was scared shitless. She abruptly pulled herself away from Rachel, ignoring the concerned voicemails and feeding excuses to her parents whenever the girl stopped by to see her. She'd managed a month, but the thought still nagged at the back of her head.

She had fallen for Rachel Berry.

And it was time for her to do something about it, because she was fed up.

So, she actually went to glee. Without her Cheerios uniform. And she spoke.

"Mr. Schue? I'd like to perform something if I can. And by 'like to', I mean I'm going to." She quirked an eyebrow, daring him to object. Will, on the other hand, was simply taken aback that Santana had _spoken_, much less wanted to sing. He nodded his assent.

Santana walked with purpose over to the piano, and mumbled something to Brad. All of the people in the room shot skeptical looks at the girl who was now sliding onto the piano bench. Santana rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I play the piano - and I'm damn good. Get over it."

Rachel was the only one who wasn't surprised by the recent development. She'd known for a while. What she _was_ surprised by was that Santana was willingly playing in front of a crowd.

Santana took in a breath, and her fingers began ghosting over the keys as she began to play the intro. Her voice poured out, steady but laced with a vulnerability that Santana never showed. The glee kids watched intently, and even Will took a seat.

_Close enough to start a war,  
><em>_All that I have is on the floor.  
><em>_God only knows what we're fighting for.  
><em>_All that I say, you always say more._

Santana pressed harder on the keys, her voice raising slowly.

_I can't keep up with your turning tables,  
><em>_Under your thumb, I can't breathe._

She went through the chorus, and as the piano interlude began, she stood up and wordlessly let Brad reclaim his position. Walking towards the center of the room, the singer's gaze sought out one specific person sitting in the top row.

_I braved a hundred storms to leave you.  
><em>_As hard as you try, no, I will never be knocked down._

_I can't keep up with your turning tables,  
><em>_Under your thumb, I can't breathe._

Santana stepped forward with each word, until she was directly in front of the others. She looked on the edge of tears as she belted out the next lyrics.

_I won't let you close enough to hurt me.  
><em>_No, I won't ask you, you to just desert me.  
><em>_I can't give you what you think you gave me.  
><em>_It's time to say goodbye to turning tables._

It didn't take very long for Rachel to figure out who Santana was singing to. But _why_? And why did she look so…_shattered_? Right on cue, Santana mustered up the most determined face she could, jaw tensing.

_Next time, I'll be braver,  
><em>_I'll be my own savior.  
><em>_Standing on my own two feet._

_I won't let you close enough to hurt me.  
><em>_No, I won't ask you, you to just desert me.  
><em>_I can't give you what you think you gave me.  
><em>_It's time to say goodbye to turning tables.  
><em>_To turning tables, turning tables._

Santana's voice had lowered to no more than a pained whisper. Hopefully Rachel would just _get __it_. Why she couldn't even be around her anymore. She was sick and tired of Rachel fucking with her heart and tearing it to shreds without even _knowing _it.

The room was silent for a few moments, then came the sound of applause. Puck cupped his hands over his mouth and let out a booming shout of approval. Finn clapped along with the others, but still had that dopey-ass confused look on his face. What else was new?

Rachel was frozen in her seat, mouth parted and her expression one of pure disbelief. Brown eyes vigorously searched Santana's for some kind of explanation. She had cut off contact for a month, and suddenly directed _that_ song at her?

Santana couldn't believe it. For such a smart girl, Rachel sure was fucking dense sometimes. She couldn't take anymore. What was that thing she learned in Biology? Fight or flight? Well, that song was the last ounce of fight she had left in her.

"Santan-"

The other girl was out of the door before Rachel could even finish calling her name.

* * *

><p><em><strong>7:30 PM<strong>_

Santana had unintentionally started singing a few lines of _Turning __Tables_ under her breath while staring at the ceiling. She'd given up any hope of Rachel texting her back around a half hour ago.

_Next time, I'll be braver…_

Just like that, something clicked. This could be her second chance - at least, until she figured out what the hell was going on. She was Santana fucking Lopez. She didn't have to screw things up this time - she could do this. She wasn't losing Rachel without a fight.

...But first, she needed _not _to look like she'd been crying her eyes out.

Twenty minutes later, a silver Lexus parked in front of Rachel's house. She walked up to the door, but didn't even have to knock - someone must have seen her car from the window. Rachel stood in the doorway, taking in the sight of Santana Lopez looking every bit as immaculate as she did at school. She still hadn't quite processed the scene, or the barrage of texts that had been left unanswered, or how Santana had known her address. For once, Rachel Berry was at a loss for words.

"Santana? I, um, how-"

"Get in the car, Berry. We're going for a ride. And I'm _not_ taking no for an answer."

* * *

><p><strong>Author<strong>**'****s ****Note**: The song used was Adele's _Turning __Tables. _I'm a huge Adele fan, but sorry if I got some of the lyrics wrong. For the life of me, I can't get those two lines ['ask you/rescue', 'what you think you gave me/the heart you think you gave me']. xD Anyway, yay. I really like this chapter, and I hope you do too. It's long, I know. Oops. By the way, all comments on Finn are Santana's opinions. I'm not one to intentionally character bash. Reviews get you more Santana, though. So click the button. :) Oh, also, FF's formatting screw ups piss me off. I actually uploaded this twenty minutes before I published it.  
>-EtherealPhoenix.<p>

PS: Go read electrik-twist's fic, _Firsts._ Yay promotion. Oh, and ten points if you can guess the title of my next chapter.

PPS: Edited, since I'm getting so many questions about it. The crash/present day is in December 2011, in the middle of senior year. The flashback is March 2011, near the end of junior year. And yes, I'm using Rachel's canon birth date: December 18th, 1994. ...And I typoed on the texts. IT WAS 4 AM, OKAY? xD


	6. Two Steps Back

**Author's Note**: I'm _so_ sorry to have kept you waiting. Yes, the title is Two Steps Back. If you can believe it, the majority of this chapter was finished a while ago. Then I hit a wall and ended up staring at it for a week without really adding anything. xD But it's done now! You get a continuation, two flashbacks, a flashback within a flashback, and Unholy Trinity angstfluff. Yup, Quitt shows up in this chapter. Enjoy. ^-^ Once again, forgive my potential 5 AM typing/formatting errors.

* * *

><p><strong>Two Steps Back<strong>

Rachel got into the car - partially because she had the feeling Santana would have dragged her in, anyway. She shut the door and Santana soon joined her, immediately hitting the gas and cruising along the street.

"Santana, I must admit that I'm slightly fearful for my life - so if you would be so kind, please tell me that this ride of yours doesn't involve us going somewhere dark, secluded, or otherwise threatening."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Yeah, dwarf, cause I'm totally a sadistic serial killer who targets girls that overcompensate for their height with their voices."

The annoyed mutter of _'__I __wouldn__'__t __entirely __rule __out __the __idea__' _didn't go unnoticed.

Ouch. That stung.

The girl in the driver's seat pressed her lips together in irritation. This day was just fucked, and Rachel's comment wasn't exactly making things better. "If you think I'm so fucking horrible, then why'd you even get in the damn car?"

_Shit. Back up. Not what you wanted. She's going to tell me to take her home._

She sighed, and added, "Rhetorical question. I'm not turning around. I know I'm being a bitch, but we really just need to…talk. Can we talk?"

Rachel glanced at the other girl, somewhat stunned by her apparent sincerity. "Well, I have no other choice, do I?" she asked, her expression resigned. "Perhaps I came off as a bit abrasive in my initial reaction."

_No shit, Berry. You get used to it, though._

"Well, first, you're getting something to eat, considering I probably robbed you of your dinner. I already had Breadstix deliver. We'll talk after."

"I'm ve-"

"Chill, I know. Did you forget about the vegan meatballs and the endless salad bowl? Well, it's not endless since it's delivered, but it's still huge. I would have thought of something better, but this was kind of last minute, and it's the nearest place. Plus, Breadstix is like my default setting."

* * *

><p>Rachel's curiosity was piqued when the car pulled up into the gated community of Lima Heights - <em>not <em>Lima Heights Adjacent, as Santana had led everyone to believe. Her home could be considered nothing short of a mansion. Lips parted silently in awe, triggering memories of a little brown-haired girl sporting a similar expression almost a decade ago.

They ate in relative silence. Rachel was still processing the situation, and Santana preferred to keep any ounce of sanity Rachel still assumed she had.

Santana made her way up the stairs, then turned to lean against the balcony railing and stare at the main hallway, where Rachel still stood. "Come on. My mother should be home soon, and I don't want her interrupting us."

Rachel complied, following her companion up the stairs and to a door at the end of a hallway. The petite brunette stepped into the foreign bedroom somewhat warily, while Santana kicked off her shoes in the corner of the room and climbed onto her bed, drawing her knees up to her chest. She gave a pointed look to the empty space at the end of the mattress, watching as Rachel gradually made her way over to the edge of the bed and took a seat. Her hands lay folded on her lap, and she stared at nothing in particular, though Santana could tell she was sneaking glances of her from her peripheral.

"I…I suppose we should discuss those texts you sent me earlier," Rachel finally said. Seriously? Now, of all times, she was going to get quiet?

"Yeah, well…" _Fuck, I sounded like a desperate loser._

"You…all of the comments you made about me were true - my fears, my hobbies, my favorite color. But I've never done any of those things with you. How could you know all of that?"

Santana rolled her eyes. "I know more than that, Berry. And you talk a lot." Damn, there she was, starting to act all sarcastic and bitchy again. This was just _frustrating_, okay?

"Sorry. Look…I don't know what's going on, Rachel. All I know is that I've been your best friend for years. And I woke up today, and suddenly I…wasn't. This room had pictures of us together, and now it doesn't. Neither does my computer or my camera. My phone doesn't even have your number saved anymore."

Santana took in a breath and looked at Rachel's surprised expression in pure defeat. "You're telling the truth. You _really_ don't remember all of this. Or none of it's happened."

"And this really _has_ happened for you, hasn't it? We were…friends?"

Santana nodded, even though that was one fucking complicated question. _We __still __are.__ …__Aren__'__t __we?_

"This puts us in quite a predicament. You're clearly not the Santana I know, and I'm obviously not the Rachel _you_ know. So, I believe this qualifies as our first official meeting?"

Rachel extended her arm, holding her hand out in front of her. "Well then, I'm Rachel Berry."

The flash of disappointment in the Hispanic girl's eyes went unnoticed. She managed a weak smile as she took the hand of the girl across from her. "…Santana Lopez."

* * *

><p><em><strong>March 18th, 2011<strong>_

Santana had skipped school. She couldn't exactly fake a cold with a doctor for a father, so she just…didn't go. She felt - and looked - so damn miserable that her parents didn't even protest. It wasn't like she was irresponsible - she'd asked Brittany to get her work. In the meantime, she just needed one day without _her_.

"_Santana!" Rachel called, running out of the choir room. The taller girl picked up her pace, turning the corner and heading straight for her locker. Her fingers trembled, fumbling at the combination lock. It slipped from her grasp within five seconds, and she slammed the metal wall with her palm in frustration. _

_A hand rested on her shoulder. "Sant-"_

_Rachel froze when Santana's head shot up, glaring at her through fresh tears. Hew brow crinkled in confusion as her friend roughly shrugged her off._

"_Don't, okay? Fucking don't, Rachel. I need…space. From you."_

_Santana closed her eyes and let the mask overtake her features. Drying her tears, she picked up the lock once again and silently turned it to the correct combination. She grabbed her bag and left Rachel in shock for the second time in a day._

It wasn't a surprise when Britt showed up around 7. It _was_ a surprise when Quinn stood in the doorway next to her. Nonetheless, she gestured the two of them inside. Britt pecked her on the cheek, and Quinn just gave her one of those gentle smiles without saying anything. Santana and Quinn as a pair never were one for words, and Santana was grateful - because she really didn't want to be interrogated.

So they ended up in the basement, Santana working on a History assignment while curled up on the couch, and the two blondes flipping through channels on the TV.

Dark eyes looked up through equally dark lashes. "So, you never told me why B needed an escort. I know the paparazzi would totes hound our fine asses, but this is Lima, not Hollywood."

Quinn smirked, shaking her head in amusement. "I _missed _you, Santana. You act like it's impossible for someone to just _care_. We haven't seen much of each other for weeks."

Santana suddenly fixed her gaze on the far corner of the room.

Yeah. She'd stayed away from Q and Britt, too. Not that she intended to, but she figured that they'd just naturally gravitate towards Rachel - and they did. An angry Santana was an isolationist. An angry Rachel needed attention and comfort. They knew each other that well.

…But, damn. A little comfort of her own wouldn't hurt.

Santana had barely recognized that a body that had slid onto the couch next to her, until Quinn's voice sounded next to her ear. "Seriously, what's wrong? You and Rachel have never-"

The flinch was obvious. Santana left her work on the couch, got up, and sat in a chair across the room. Her eyes were trained on the wall as she spoke. "Look, if you're gonna sit here and bring up Ra-_her_, you can just leave."

Quinn stood up. "No, Santana! I'm tired of being dragged into this. She's our best friend, too, you know. You're not the only one hurting here! I care about _both_ of you. I don't know what your problem is, but you can't just erase her from your life."

Santana took less than a split second to round on the taller blonde, livid. She barked out a laugh that was dripping with sarcasm, forcing the other girl's back to the wall. For someone who wasn't exactly tall, she could be pretty damn intimidating. "You know what, _Chastity __Queen_? Fuck you. You don't even get to _think_ this is about you. You think _you__'__re_ 'hurting'? Cry me a motherfucking river and drown in it."

…Funny she should mention crying, when angry tears were threatening to work their way to the surface.

She was surprised when Brittany, with surprising strength, latched onto her wrist and gently pulled her away. Her hostility faded just the slightest bit when she noticed the disappointed pout that the blue-eyed girl was wearing. "Stop the violence, guys."

"She's insane," Quinn muttered, running her hand through her hair.

"No she's not, Q. San's just really upset because she's in love with Rach, and Finn's keeping her from seeing what's right in front of her. Like, literally. He's huge." Brittany ended her sentence with a shrug, as if it were common knowledge.

Quinn's eyebrows practically shot up to her hairline, and her irritation was replaced by confusion.

Santana stood there, looking like someone had punched her in the stomach. Britt knew. Did that mean _Rachel _knew? Fuck, did that mean Rachel knew, and _didn__'__t __feel __the __same __way_? She was shaking now - she wanted to run. But she couldn't exactly run out of her own house.

"B…" was all that Santana could manage.

"Brittany, why would you think that?" Quinn asked, completely thrown for a loop.

"Because she gives her the same look that my mom gives my dad, or Lord Tubbington gives Charity. And every time Rach gets back together with Finn, San looks like Breadstix was just shut down. Not to mention that that song the other day was totally about Rachel."

It's not that Quinn was oblivious - Brittany was just extremely observant. Besides, growing up under a religious background in a conservative town wouldn't exactly condition her brain to think '_my best friend has feelings for my other best friend, even though they're both girls'__._

But as the pair's recent interactions - or lack thereof - fell into place, the last of Quinn's anger over their confrontation had subsided. She'd caught traces of an unidentifiable emotion during the times when she, Brittany, and Rachel happened to pass their estranged friend in the hallways. Now, she could name it. Whereas Rachel was simply hurt and confused, Santana…Santana was heartbroken.

Normal, non-catatonic Santana would have made a smartass comment about Lord Tubbs and Charity being Britt's _cats_, and thus a pretty shitty comparison. _This_ Santana had just been stripped to the core in front of the ones who were supposed to know her the most. She fell back onto the couch, burying her head in her hands and sobbing openly.

Brittany joined Santana on the couch, rubbing soothing circles on her back as the dark-haired girl leaned into her. She made quiet shushing noises and whispers of "it'll be okay" while looking at Quinn in concern.

The other blonde sat on her opposite side, taking her hand. She stroked her pad of her thumb across tan skin, watching her distressed friend with genuine sympathy.

"It…it's true. I love her. I love Rachel," Santana finally admitted, her voice wavering.

"…How the hell do I fix this?"

* * *

><p>This was kind of annoying. Okay, more like really fucking annoying.<p>

The two of them still hadn't made an progress on the 'how' of the situation, so they'd been at this awkward new friendship for a week. A week of Santana walking beside Rachel in the halls of McKinley, only for people to look at her like she was fucking insane - sometimes even Rachel herself.

A week of fighting the urge to grab her hand, or hug her, even though it was so _normal_ for them to do it, because she saw how Rachel tensed up every time.

A week of Rachel Berry's half-assed smiles-that-weren't-really-smiles because she was still fucking _terrified_ that this was all some big joke.

Santana wanted to kill whoever had screwed her hobbit up like this, making her check around every corner like she was about to get jumped or some shit.

...Until she remembered that _technically_, it had most likely been her. Fuck.

She had never been more aware that this was definitely not _her_ Rachel. And it was _really __fucking __annoying_.

* * *

><p><em><strong>March 19th, 2011<strong>_

Yeah, this was the point at which Santana was sure she'd gone certifiably insane.

Santana Lopez was on Rachel Berry's doorstep on a Saturday evening with a collection of newly purchased Barbra Streisand DVDs - and yes, she fully considered _Meet __The __Fockers_ to be a Barbra Streisand movie. Apology or not, she needed _something_ to keep her entertained, and she was likely to fall asleep with nothing but the sound of show tunes echoing in her head.

The door opened, and a short brunette stood there looking as shocked as her visitor looked guilty.

"I'm a bitch," Santana began, staring at the concrete below. "I'm stupid, and I should have never done that to you. I…there were reasons why I did what I did, but I'm trying to deal with them. I know this is a shitty apology, but you were always the one with the vocabulary." She let out a weak laugh, and finally met Rachel's eyes in sincerity. "I am so, _so_ sorry. I know you have questions, but…can we just be _us_ tonight? Please? I brought movies. The Streisand ones."

Rachel looked decidedly unimpressed, but opened her door fully and stepped back, which Santana supposed was as much of an invitation as she was going to get. Not that she even deserved that much.

They were mostly silent as the screen flashed before them. A few laughs here and there, but there wasn't much to say without reopening wounds. There was a delicate line drawn between the two of them, but tonight wasn't the night for crossing it. Rachel took solace in the way her head still fit in the crook of Santana's shoulder, the way Santana still liked to play with one of her hands, running her fingers along it in a repetitive, mindless dance.

Two words. Two words traced onto the back of her hand so many times that Santana was surprised she hadn't broken the other girl's skin.

_Forgive me._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: That's it! Review, please - you guys inspire me. :) I love you all. Also, mind showing me some of your favorite NQL quotes, if you have any?  
>If you want to get a general idea of when I'll post updates, you can find me on Tumblr - it's listed in my profile. Just keep an eye out for writer's block venting. xD<br>-EtherealPhoenix.


End file.
